Just Peachy
by scorpiaux
Summary: Kataang, OneShot. “Your face is red,” he observed quietly, smiling. “You’re blushing, Katara.” Aang teaches his unsure companion the true meaning of feeling "peachy."


**Just Peachy**

**Summary**:"Your face is red," he observed quietly, smiling. "You're blushing, Katara." Aang teaches his unsure companion the true meaning of feeling "peachy."

**Author's Note**: I wrote this OneShot to get a break from the depressing/dark tone of "Letters from the Falling Sky." I love that series to bits, but I needed something to refresh my memory of what the OneShot world was like. And thus, this was born!

As a warning, it's a little...well--gee..."peachy," I guess, would be the perfect term! Haha!

School started todayand I wanted to throw this into the open because, though it's short, it's a little on the fluffy side, and I've been dying to write a fluffy Kataang story. Katara's hatred for papaya has always made me smile. The one line that I still remember from _The Fortune Teller._ "Oh man…I hate papaya."

Katara, you crazy fool! Don't you know millions of writers across the globe are going to use that line against you?

_-scorpiored112_

* * *

Her first experience had been a good ten years ago, when a tribal boy about her age had shoved a large chunk of papaya down her throat.

His mother, the prime example of a village idiot, believed he had eaten his fruit when he returned home with an empty plate. No one asked the boy why he had dragged little Katara with him to the shipping docks, or why she had thrown up minutes afterward.

When her mother asked if she was okay, Katara had spat sarcastically, wiping juice from her mouth, "Just peachy." Because it was such a silly thing to ask, and a little out of place, but also, as she knew, necessary.

So no one picked up on the cynical pitch possessed by the five year old, and frankly, no one seemed to care. Her hatred for papaya looked to be picky eating and was dismissed as something she was born with. She can no longer remember the face of her young attacker. She merely remembers that the whole situation was disgusting and awkward.

This was the story she told Aang now, ten years later in the Southern Air Temple they were visiting. He laughed at the way she described the child as "a hideous monstrosity," assuring her that having someone feed you fruit was a pleasurable sensation if done correctly, with the right person and the proper atmosphere.

"It's a romantic gesture," he assured, squeezing her hand. "It's another way of saying you love someone."

She made a face. Her attention turned to the darkening sky above the balcony and wavered momentarily, contemplating. She had never thought of it that way, simple proof that first impressions can last lifetimes.

"I don't' think so," she murmured flatly. "I just remember it was gross."

"You mean peachy," he replied with a smile, pulling her closer.

She stuck out her tongue and raised her eye brows.

Aang laughed at her visible sign of repulsion. "What if _I_ fed you fruit?" he asked into her hair, because it was the obvious thing a lover would ask. "What would you do?"

"I'm sure it would be different," Katara stated. "But honestly, Aang, I don't see the point. People can eat fruit by themselves, you know what I mean?"

"Well, of course they _can_," the Avatar replied slowly, reaching for the coco-melon that lay behind him, "but would they _want_ to?"

"I would want to," his companion returned effortlessly, turning around in his lap to face him. "The dependency is unnecessary."

Aang rolled the coco-melon around in his hand. It was a small, smooth fruit that was one of the sweetest in the temple, and a main ingredient for the legendary fruit pies. "Have you ever tried one of these, Katara?"

She looked at it blankly. It wasn't a new sight—the whole temple was speckled with identical trees and identical fruits and Katara, simply because she was not a plant expert, had barely noticed the difference between them. "No, I haven't," she admitted. "Are they good?"

"Very good!" he answered with a grin. "The best in the whole Southern Hemisphere of the world."

"I'm not one for fruit," she said, holding her hand up in refusal. "It's not like it was abundant when we were growing up. I don't even know where that little jerk got the papaya to begin with."

Aang held her chin in his hand and turned her face up to see the expression she usually wore when she was upset: a worried grimace, eyes downcast, face flushed. Typical Katara. "It doesn't taste anything like papaya," he promised. "And I won't shove it down your throat."

"Aang—"

But he had already started the tedious task of cracking the fruit open on his knee. It split nicely down the middle, revealing white meat and three dark seeds. Katara watched as he cut a section out with his knife.

And suddenly, some unknown swell rose within her chest, pressuring her to turn her face. A warm sensation ran over her body and settled in shivers. Katara didn't understand why sitting with him now was so difficult. It was such utter stupidity to feel shy. In the presence of fruit. And Aang. So stupid. And so uncomfortable.

He noticed the apparent color on her cheeks and touched her hand. He asked the generic, "Are you okay?" followed immediately by, "All you have to do is open your mouth."

"I know."

"Your face is red," he observed quietly, smiling. "You're blushing, Katara."

"Oh—stop it!" She looked up at him and bit her lip. "Let's just get this over with." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Stop looking at me like that!"

"Right—sorry." Aang couldn't reserve the smirk anymore. She was too adorable, he thought, in this helpless position. "You're still blushing," he said, this time with a little laugh. "Goodness, Katara—there's no reason to be embarrassed. Just relax."

He watched as she drew a deep breath and looked at the white fruit in his hands. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she stated honestly, a little out of breath.

It was impulse that led Aang's fingers, pastel colored against her deep complexion, to move above her chin and press the sides of her mouth together.

Perhaps trying to listen to his advice, she closed her eyes—the natural reaction—the same thing that occurred anytime he was touching her face. It was the vulnerable look. Lips parted, eyes closed, leaning in. And it killed Aang to see her like this, under his control, right at his fingertips, moving to the simple whim of tasting fruit.

His grip on her face slackened as she took a small bit out of the coco-melon. It was soft and plump and left an obvious trail of milk on her chin. But it was also sweet. Sweet enough to force Katara's eyes to flutter open and for her blush to instantly die away.

She licked her lips and cleaned her chin with the back of her hand. His expression was captivated. Somehow, she sensed he had enjoyed feeding it to her as much as she had enjoyed eating it.

"It's good?"

"It's sweet," she stated, grinning. And then added, out of politeness and out of truth, "Nothing like papaya."

Aang replied, again with his lopsided smile, "You see? Just like I said."

She looked up at him and noticed the transfixed quality of his expression, the way he had started to stare. Though the silence wasn't uncomfortable, it certainly seemed out of place.

"Are you okay?" Katara asked him suddenly. "Goodness, Aang—there's no reason to be embarrassed. Stop looking at me like that."

He recognized the words he had spilled to her earlier and laughed slightly at her clever remark. His face had also gained some color in the coco-melon exchange simply because of her dependency. Because watching her eat coco-melon reminded him that, if he kissed her, she would also taste like coco-melon. And that thought, therefore, excited him.

"Would you like some more?" he asked, holding up the half finished piece and continuing his gaze.

She nodded. But when she leaned in, he caught her lips with his mouth before they parted. Her eyes opened up suddenly. He had dropped the fruit and swung his arms about her waist. She rested her hands swiftly on the back of his neck. It was honestly what she had expected him to do. It didn't surprise her when he ran his tongue softly over the remaining juice on her chin, either.

He asked after they broke apart, a little breathlessly, "How do you feel?"

And it was such a silly thing to ask, and a little out of place, but also necessary. Katara said with a laugh, pressing her forehead against his and looking into his silver eyes, "Just peachy."


End file.
